


Unsent Lament

by ry0kiku



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Grayson (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Nightwing #30, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Brotherly Bonding, Canon Related, Coping with Death, Gen, Post Forever Evil, Post Robin Rises, Sad Robins, funeral speech
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2016-07-01
Packaged: 2018-07-19 10:06:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7356910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ry0kiku/pseuds/ry0kiku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Richard John Grayson. Who, against all rational thoughts, always preferred to be called by that asinine nickname that nobody can pronounce with a straight face."</p><p>The recently resurrected Damian was still beating himself for missing Dick's funeral, and made up for it in his own way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unsent Lament

**Author's Note:**

> Batman and his robins belong to DC comics. I own nothing but the pleasure in writing this piece and trying to dive into Damian's head for the first time.

"He was buried in his Nightwing suit."

Damian barely flinched; he had heard and recognized Tim's light footsteps when the latter entered the family cemetery. The twelve-year-old kept his ramrod straight posture, his eyes fixed at the gravestone, even as Tim stopped a few steps behind him.

"Bruce's idea. Said that the Crime Syndicate killed Nightwing, so it's Nightwing we must bury. Jason said that it's part of Bruce's subtle denial that Dick is truly gone."

Under different circumstances, Damian probably would have rolled his eyes or growled at his older brother to shut up. He did neither, because doing so would tear his eyes from the epitaph he tried to burn into his mind.

' _Richard John Grayson. Beloved son, brother, and friend. Lived and died a true hero._ '

"The funeral was nice." Tim continued barely above a whisper, but more than enough for Damian's trained ears. "Even Jason came; Babs wasn't very happy to see him though. Arsenal and Starfire came too, along with top members of the League. Superman, Wonder Woman, and Green Lantern even offered to be his pall-bearers. It was surreal."

And besides, even though he'd rather die all over again than admit it, Damian was silently grateful that Tim was insightful enough to fill him in on the details of the funeral he missed. No one else, not even his father, had even offered to do so. Maybe they feared that it would wreck him more, if his reaction to the news of Dick's death was any indication. In the end, ironically, Tim Drake might be one of very few people who can actually read him like a book. Especially now that Dick's gone.

"His sign was up in the sky for three days. I rode to town and saw many doors painted with his symbol and color. Haly's circus also apparently arranged a performance in his honor. Sometimes I wonder how he managed to capture the heart of so many people."

Small wonder, Damian thought to himself. Dick had always been the charming one, the one with many friends, the one who would actually take time to bond with the people he protected. He even once jokingly told Damian that 'making friends' was his superpower (" _And making friends with animals is yours, Little D,_ " a familiar voice resurfaced, and quickly buried.).

These people mourned, despite not knowing who Nightwing was beneath the mask. And Damian felt a slight ache of jealousy. He was Dick's former partner, little brother figure, family. And he wasn't even there to say goodbye properly.

"It wasn't your fault, you know."

Damian glared at Tim from the corner of his eyes, and cursed under his breath. Since when had the older boy been so good at reading him? Or more importantly, since when had he allowed himself to be so easily read? So easily patronized, by Tim Drake of all people?

Tim was silent, probably sensing his discomfort. The uneasy silence stretched for two full minutes before he decided to break it, speaking for the first time he'd been in the cemetery.

"The speech," His voice was cracking a little, probably from disuse, but he made sure it was loud enough for Tim to hear. "I know funerals usually have speeches. Who gave it?"

It took Tim another couple of seconds to answer. "Superman did."

Damian scowled, making a mental note to scold his brooding father later.

Sure, Superman had known and worked with Dick longer than he had, and even considered Dick a surrogate nephew or some sort. But Damian was willing to bet his future inheritance that the Metropolis hero never really knew Dick beyond the mask, either as Robin or Nightwing. He likely made a flowery speech on Nightwing's valor and bravery, and how his death was a great loss to the superhero community. While it wasn't technically incorrect, it didn't do Dick justice. At all. Dick didn't deserve such a formal, impersonal farewell.

Damian clenched his tiny fists, then took a deep breath.

"Richard John Grayson. Who, against all rational thoughts, always preferred to be called by that asinine nickname that nobody can pronounce with a straight face."

He could feel Tim's eyes on him, likely widening in disbelief, but carried on without caring.

"My time knowing Grayson might not be very long, but I daresay I am one of few people who truly know him. Know him as a person, not as some pure and perfect hero a lot of you paint him as. Because that's hardly who he is."

Damian felt as if a foreign object was stuck in his throat, but swallowed the feeling and continued.

"Far from perfect, in the short years I have been by his side, I can attest that Grayson was very flawed as a crime fighter. His movements sacrificed lethality for aesthetic. He fell into the most laughable of traps, and sometimes dragged me with him. He gave chances to questionable people, sometimes it helped but oftimes compromised the mission. He made jokes and puns in the most inappropriate of places, including right in the enemy's face. Grayson is anything but a perfect hero you all seem to consider him to be."

Damian stopped to draw breath, half expecting Tim to contradict him, berate him for staining the pure white perfect memory of Dick Grayson.

It never came, so he carried on. Plowing through the strictness in his throat.

"Because if he's anywhere near perfect, he wouldn't have taken me under his wing. A perfect hero would have picked someone boring like Red Robin to stand by his side, not a thoroughbred assassin like me. A perfect hero wouldn't have wanted anything to do with me, much less taught me life lessons and encouraged me to be my own person. A perfect hero wouldn't have called someone like me his little brother, and insisted on initiating those pointless physical contact he called 'hugs'."

The words were flowing freely now. His chest felt tight, his throat constricted, but Damian felt strangely solemn.

"Grayson wasn't a perfect Batman, much less a perfect human being. But I wouldn't have him any other way. He was my mentor, my partner, my brother. Our time was short, but he made me... happy, for the lack of other adjectives. And now I wish him no less than that."

He heard a rustle and turned around to face Tim for the first time, just in time to see him wiping his teary eyes with his sleeve. The twelve-year-old scoffed.

"Be glad it I didn't do it in the real funeral. Otherwise everyone would see you in such a pathetic melodramatic state."

Tim chuckled, wiping off the last of his tears. The elder flashed him a sympathetic smile, reaching in his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief.

"Yeah, I'm glad. For your sake, too."

Damian tutted, taking the offering but made no move to wipe his own face. Let the tears flow freely, along with all the hurt and regret and pain for his loss. Let his heart bleed until it could no more, until he's accepted that he could no longer see Dick's blinding smiles, hear his calming voice, and feel his warm hugs.

Even as Tim silently retreated back to the manor, Damian remained there, wordlessly pouring his unsent farewells to his dead brother.

.

.

_"That's about it. Is it sufficient?"_

"That's enough for now. You did well, Birdwatcher."

_"Yay me. Do you think I can make it home before the flowers in my grave wilt?"_

"Maybe you can. Someone has just laid down fresh flowers there, after all."

_"Oh, who? Don't tell me it's Jason? I knew that somewhere behind those guns and fists, he does love his big brother."_

Bruce neither answered nor confirmed, a small but grim smile on his face. While his conscience screamed at him to tell Dick about Damian's return, his logic knew he couldn't. He knew that his eldest would have bolted home the instant he knew their youngest family member was alive, his undercover mission be damned. Their bond was something, and it pained Bruce to keep it cut off with lies and deceit. Even if it's absolutely necessary for their own sakes.

_"Mr. Malone? You okay there?"_

He closed his eyes, burying Bruce Wayne the father inside and summoned Batman, the protector of Gotham. The Batman who could withstand the guilt of faking his eldest son's death even to his own family.

"Good work, Birdwatcher. See you in our next transmission."

.

.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the artworks for alternate Nightwing #30, showing Dick's funeral post Forever Evil. I remembered feeling an ache when I saw Damian wasn't there, then remembered that he's still dead *sobs*. And thus this piece is born. Hope you enjoyed your time :)


End file.
